


Future Plans

by katzell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzell/pseuds/katzell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy get their hair washed! Impassioned political speeches are made that the writer glosses over! Octavia is a dancing queen - Clarke not so much. And No Diggity is a song so great not even a nuclear apocalypse can bring it down. This story takes place in a hypothetical future. One-shot. Cross-posted to my tumblr: katiesfault.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Plans

“Clarke, you can’t fight us on this,” said Raven, advancing slowly.

  
“Don’t even try to leave,” threatened Octavia. “You’ll never make it out the door.”

  
“I wasn’t going to!” Clarke protested. “I just don’t understand why you’re both so obsessed with this. It’s not a big deal.” Clarke crossed her arms and tried to look intimidating. The look had worked so well during the last few weeks of peace negotiations, but it was useless on Octavia and Raven.

  
“Clarke, this is a celebration. The first real celebration we’ve had since we landed down here. The leaders of every Grounder tribe within a 50 mile radius are here.”

  
“And you are our leader, and we are not letting you go out looking like this,” Raven took Clarke’s shoulders and pointed her toward a piece of glass that had been mounted against a piece of stainless steel. It wasn’t a perfect mirror, but Clarke could see herself well enough. Her face was clean, if still scraped and bruised, and her hair was pulled back into what had become her default since landing on earth.

  
“I look like myself.”

  
Octavia put her hands on Clarke’s shoulders and pushed her down onto a makeshift stool. Metal screeched as Raven dragged over her steel work table. Once it was in position behind Clarke, Raven put a bowl of steaming water down. From the bag slung over her shoulder, Octavia removed a bottle of something vaguely yellow. She wet her hands and then squeezed some of the yellow goop out and started massaging it into a thick lather. A lovely mint smell filled the room.

  
“We are washing your hair,” said Raven. “I asked Monty to concoct a mild soap. He says it’s still early days, but this should get out the dirt, blood, and god knows how many insects, without doing any damage. The fact that he made it smell nice is just a nice extra because Monty is a sweetheart.”

  
Clarke sighed. She couldn’t deny the appeal of clean hair. It was just that there were a million things she needed to be doing before all the guests arrived: overnight accommodations for the deluge of people about to arrive, weapons checks, going over the speaking program…well the list was too long to review entirely. Throwing this party was turning out to be almost as stressful as the negotiations before the assault on Mount Weather…  
Clarke caught herself. That wasn’t true, and could never be true. She closed her eyes and told herself not to think about Finn.

  
“Do it.”

  
Raven dunked her head back into the bowl of hot water and then held her head up as Octavia began scrubbing.

  
After her hair had been washed and rinsed three times, Clarke wished they hadn’t shown her the color of the water, Octavia braided Clarke’s hair so it circled her head like a crown.

  
“I don’t know,” Clarke grimaced as she stared at her reflection.

  
Her friends ignored her.

  
“That looks amazing O,” said Raven. "When did you learn that?"

  
“I grew up inside my room. There wasn’t a whole lot to do. And then Lincoln taught me some Grounder styles.”

This made Clarke turn and stare.

“Lincoln braids hair?”

“Have you been paying attention to most Grounder men? Lincoln used to have beautiful long hair, but he had to shave it when he became a healer.”

Raven frowned.

“Isn’t that friend of his also a healer? The one with the awesome braids.”

Octavia nodded.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure his hair just started thinning early and he didn’t want to admit it.”

Suddenly all Clarke could think of was rugged Lincoln, meticulously braiding his long hair into pig tails. Laughter just sort of exploded out of her in a very loud snort. She grabbed her nose in horror. Octavia and Raven stared at her for three very long seconds, and then the three of them collapsed on each other laughing.

"Why are we laughing?" choked Raven. Clarke shook her head, unable to respond and almost unable to breathe. It felt so clean to laugh.

“Is everything okay in there?” asked Monty, who had stuck his head inside. “Clarke didn’t try to kill you?”

“We’re fine,” said Clarke.

Sweet good natured Monty stared at them for a moment.

“I think I better work on that shampoo some more. There might be something in the fumes.”

 

***

 

The clearing by the lake was filled with people. From inside the large tent that had been erected for the tribal leaders, Clarke could hear the mostly happy rumble of conversation and occasional splashes of laughter. Clarke tried not to stare at the doorway. Nearly everyone had arrived, with one glaring exception. Where was Bellamy?  
Ro – the leader of the Sea Clan – was telling Clarke about a couple plants native to the coast that could treat burns. Clarke smiled politely and ordered herself to relax, but her feet itched to move, to at least pace. She couldn't stop her head from swiveling in the direction of the doorway with every flutter of the tent flap.

She wasn’t good at this. “Charming conversationalist” Clarke was not. Even in the old days of the Ark when exams and chess games had been her biggest causes of anxiety, Clarke had been called out for being abrupt and rude. Which was why it was completely unacceptable that Bellamy had left her on her own. Bellamy was far better at this part. He had a talent for knowing just what a person most wanted to hear – though how he used that information could sway the tone of the conversation considerably. He was equally good at inspiring murder as he was loyalty. Thankfully, he had matured since the Dropship days.

Finally, moments before Clarke would have been forced to start the proceedings without him, Bellamy ducked inside the tent. He smiled apologetically at the most powerful people within a 50 mile radius of Camp Jaha, shook hands, renewed acquaintances, all the while making his way steadily to where Clarke stood.

As Bellamy came closer, Clarke saw that his dark curls were damp and slightly shorter. There was also a sharp smell of mint. The slight change gave Clarke a momentary start. She had grown so accustomed to him, yet all of a sudden he seemed…new.

“Unavoidably detained,” Bellamy said to the room. “My sister told me I looked like something a cougar coughed up, and she wouldn’t let me leave until I was no longer ‘an embarrassment.’” Everyone except Clarke chuckled.

“There is nothing more fearsome than a sister looking out for one’s own good,” said Ro. There was a general murmur of agreement. Bellamy’s lips twitched slightly. Clarke rubbed her arms. In some ways the Grounders with their large families and clan loyalties understood Bellamy in a way she never would.

“You can stop frowning now,” Bellamy murmured when he reached her side. The tent was crowded and his arm pressed up against her. “People will start to think something is wrong.”  
Clarke blinked and tried out a smile.

“On the other hand there’s no need to strain yourself.”

Clarke glared and elbowed him. He grunted softly, though she hadn’t put any force into the hit. She smiled at the concession, suddenly feeling much better.  
His eyes found hers and for a moment they both held still, comforted that whatever came next they were in it together.

“Like the hair, very regal,” said Bellamy. Clarke put a hand gently to her head, still afraid that the braid would somehow dislodge despite Octavia’s assurances.

“Right back at you,” said Clarke. “It’s very…”

“Romanesque?”

“Hmm?”

“Nevermind,” sighed Bellamy. He crooked his elbow at Clarke and raised his eyebrow. Time to start. She took his arm, and together, they led the tribes out of the tent and through the largest group of people Clarke had ever seen in her entire life. She could almost feel them pressing in on her and Bellamy and the noise was overwhelming. Back straight and shoulders squared, Clarke and Bellamy led the way to the raised platform from which the speakers would address the crowd.

So many people were relying on them to pull this off. But how many more should have been here today? Clarke wondered. Her own losses loomed large. Finn would have loved this. But Finn was gone. She let go of Bellamy’s arm and faced her people.

 

***

 

The speeches went well, Bellamy thought. Clarke had looked like she had just bitten a crab apple until just before her turn, but when she stepped forward to greet the assembled peoples she was authority itself. The crowd hung on her words, and more importantly their leaders seemed, if not always happy, at least respectful of the plans she laid out. Even Dr. Griffin and Kane seemed satisfied.

Bellamy grinned. He was so proud of Clarke and how much she had accomplished. It hadn’t been easy getting Abby and Kane to let Clarke lead the peace talks and speak, not just for the Dropship, but for all the citizens of the Arc. In the end though, even Kane had been forced to admit that the former Council had lost their own people’s trust and would never be able to broker terms under those conditions. Things were changing. It was incremental, but it was change. Bellamy just wished he could believe that it would be enough. He was glad inspiring belief was Clarke’s job. In lesser hands, the speech full of plans, promises and artful concessions framed as altruistic gifts might have been boring, but there was something about Clarke that just drew people to her, and made it impossible to look away.

Bellamy’s own speech was shorter – but his job was simpler; praise, reassurance and acknowledgement. We have achieved peace! We are committed to peace! We have sacrificed too much on all sides to become discouraged when keeping the peace becomes difficult. And then ending with the classic, this is the hard part suckers, but your children will honor you for it! The whole thing reminded him of a book he used to read to Octavia, where a young boy tricked all his friends into painting the fence just by convincing them that the chore was fun. The fine art of bullshit. Bellamy appreciated all the plans they had been making and all the treaties they were working towards, but when he tried to imagine real peace, he always came up short. Nowhere was safe, and nothing was certain. There was no point in trusting in words. In the end, actions would rule just as they always had.

Other clan leaders spoke after them. Bellamy paid careful attention, exchanging quick looks with Clarke whenever sensitive subjects such as borders and hunting rights came up. At last the final speech was given and everyone raised their glasses.

As if cued, the musicians started up. Octavia had explained that this would happen, but Bellamy was still relieved when the evening transitioned seamlessly from politics to a good old-fashioned party. Finally he would be able to sit down.

“No sitting,” scolded Octavia. “You two need to dance.”

Bellamy couldn’t control his groan and saw Clarke massage the side of her face with her hand. With her hair pulled up like that she looked like a real princess, cool and perfect. It was a bit disconcerting. But under her eyes he could see light blue shadows – a testament to too many sleepless nights. Clarke needed to rest.

“I thought we were under strict orders not to embarrass you,” growled Bellamy. He was disappointed but not surprised when this failed to intimidate his sister.

“Not dancing is embarrassing. You two not only have to participate, you have to socialize. If I don’t see you both dance with at least one person from every tribe here before this night ends – “

“You’ll what?” asked Bellamy, crossing his arms.

“I won’t do anything.” Octavia smirked. “But good luck getting a trade agreement or a strategic alliance.”

Clarke sighed and stood up.

“You should have prepared me for this,” said Clarke.

Octavia grinned.

“I did! I made you both look pretty and Monty made sure you smelled nice. You’re welcome.” Before either Bellamy or Clarke could protest further, Octavia pulled them off the platform and down into the dancing.”

They found Jasper and Monty in the crowd. Jasper was flailing while Monty was staring at the Grounder next to him, hesitantly testing out the steps.

“You ready to get down!” yelled Jasper. “WOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

“I think I’m getting it!” said Monty. “It’s only four steps, I just have to figure out the pattern. Quick! Partner up!” And with that Jasper and Monty grabbed hands and whirled off into the circle of dancers that had formed.

Just as Octavia had promised, an older man whose braid was streaked with silver and who Bellamy recognized as the River Clan’s ambassador took Clarke’s hand and twirled her after Jasper and Monty. Ro herself slipped over and put her hand on Bellamy’s arm.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you hurt yourself,” she smirked. Bellamy raised his eyebrow.

“Glad to know I’m in such capable hands.”

Ro just laughed.

“You’ve seen what I can do with my hands.”

“Yes I have,” said Bellamy appreciatively, and allowed himself to be escorted into the dance.

It took a few songs, but eventually Bellamy got the hang of the four steps Monty had observed. Octavia, unsurprisingly, had picked up not only the basic moves, but most of the variations. She must have practiced with Lincoln ahead of time, Bellamy thought resentfully. No matter where she went, Octavia always had a knack for looking like she belonged.

Bellamy remembered Octavia’s first party. Five seconds and she went from being a girl who had only ever stood in a room with two people to the light of the party. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet here she was again, shining brighter than anyone else.

Bellamy searched the crowd for his other girl. His friend, he quickly corrected, his partner. Not his girl.

He spotted a blond head. While Octavia had looked almost ecstatically happy, Clarke looked like she was planning an assault with no amo. He caught her eye and jerked his head toward one of the tables that had been set up with large bowls filled with fruit, water, and some of Monty’s secret recipe.

“You need a drink!” he yelled in her ear when she finally made her way to his side.

“I need five,” she shouted back, “but if I dance any worse I might accidentally impale someone.”

“Or it will save someone’s life,” countered Bellamy, holding out a cup, “you’re mean when you’re frustrated, but you’re a happy drunk.”

Clarke tipped her head to the side and glared at him. Bellamy smiled back innocently.

“Hello tiny dancer!” interrupted Raven. Clarke winced and Bellamy turned toward Raven’s voice. She was making her way slowly forward, followed by Wick the engineer. Bellamy was getting used to seeing him whenever Raven was around.

“Don’t even say it. I know,” groaned Clarke.

“At least you can dance,” said Raven with an exaggerated sigh and a long look at the brace on her leg. Clarke jerked back and twisted her hands. There were hundreds of people here but only Raven Reyes had the power to make Clarke look contrite. Bellamy raised an eyebrow at Raven who was clearly enjoying herself.

“I’m just kidding Clarke. It’s clear you can’t dance.”

Bellamy snorted and quickly tried to pass it off as a cough.

“You can both go blow yourselves up,” Clarke huffed.

“Nah,” said Raven. “Didn’t you hear? I’m retired. It’s peacetime.”

The music changed and Bellamy found himself nodding along. There was something oddly familiar about this song. Then the chorus kicked in and Bellamy nearly yelped.

“I like the way you work!” he sang. It wasn’t the words the Grounders were singing, but he knew they were the right words.

“What?” Clarke was staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“No diggity,” Bellamy continued, unable to stop. “I got to bag it up - Clarke it’s Dr. Dre.”

“Actually it’s Blackstreet, featuring Dr. Dre,” corrected Wick. Clearly Wick was not only an engineer, but a man of taste.

“150 years and a nuclear apocalypse and Earth still remembers No Diggity.”

“Baby you’re a perfect ten, I wanna get in. Can I get down, so I can win.” Wick sang.

“Oh my god,” said Raven.

“Didn’t you study American rap?” Bellamy asked.

“Briefly,” Clarke answered. “I remember Beyoncé, Kanye, Tupac, and the Wu-Tang Clan. But we focused more on Mozart, Beethoven, and the Beatles. “

“Bel! Bel!” yelled Octavia. She pushed and shoved at the crowd, eventually making it to them. “Are you hearing this!”

The bridge came, and maybe it was Monty’s special brew, but Bellamy and Octavia turned to each other, just as they had done countless times in the small apartment they’d shared, and started singing.

“Hey-yo, hey-yo, hey-yo, he yooooooooooo!”

The song ended. Octavia’s smile seemed to be trying to fly off her face and Bellamy knew he wore one to match.

When Bellamy turned back to his friends, they were staring – jaws hanging open. Clarke in particular was giving him the strangest look. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head.

“What the hell was that?” asked Raven.

“Beautiful, man” said Wick.

The music started again and Octavia screamed. In fairness, she wasn’t the only one who screamed. It seemed that every Grounder was yelling their approval of the musician’s selection.

“Is this?” Clarke asked.

“Oh hell yes!” yelled Raven.

A woman with a deep rich voice addressed the crowd.

“Now most of you know this one. But for the Sky People, this song is just for our unmarried female warriors. And no pressure, but more than one lady has found herself a husband after this dance. Try and keep up.”

Raven looked like she had just discovered a new and more awesome way to blow things up.

“Are you ready for _Single Ladies_ Clarke?” she asked.

“Bellamy, I’ve changed my mind. I need that drink.”

“No time!” yelled Octavia, and pulled Clarke into the throng of women. Bellamy stared with poorly concealed delight. This was going to be wonderful.

***

This was terrible. Clarke just couldn’t get the hang of the dance. When she was standing tall, everyone else had swooped down to a crouch. When she moved left, everyone else moved right. And how did people even move their hips like that? She looked to Octavia to see how she was doing, but of course the answer was, awesomely.

Octavia looked like a goddess. She wasn’t even following the same steps as everyone else, but she moved with confidence, all curves and hair. If the purpose of this dance was to attract admirers, Octavia was a wild success

Clarke looked at Bellamy to make sure his protective streak wasn’t kicking in, only to find he wasn’t staring at his sister at all. He was staring at her, and he was smiling.  
Clarke felt as if she might burn up. She looked away, desperately trying to find somewhere safe. It had been bad enough when he had been singing with his sister. She just couldn’t get over that. He’d been so happy, and it was all just so…adorable! What was wrong with her?

Clarke turned and nearly ran into a grounder who had turned the other way.

Bellamy was not adorable. He was intense, obstinate, angry, smart, loyal, inspiring, reliable, but not adorable. She was going crazy.

She took two steps to the left while everyone else held still and managed to shake just their torso. Clarke could hear Raven’s loud brassy laugh. She looked over to see Raven, comfortably sitting by the fire, she was clutching her stomach and tears sparkled in the firelight.

“That’s it!” Clarke decided. “Octavia!” she called and nodded her head at Raven. A beatific grin appeared on Octavia’s face. With synchronicity honed on the battlefield, they advanced on Raven.

“No! Stop!” Raven yelped, but it was too late. Clarke had grabbed one of Raven’s arms while Octavia had the other. "My leg!"

"Lift her up," ordered Octavia. Suddenly Wick and Bellamy, were there, hoisting Raven up onto Clarke and Octavia's linked hands.

“Put me down right now!” Raven shrieked, but Octavia and Clarke carried her with them into the dancers while the crowd wooped in approval.  
For the final minute of the song, Octavia and Clarke bounced Raven around while Raven cursed at them. But Clarke could see her smiling.

“Woo, Single Ladies,” Octavia yelled as the song ended. Wrist and shoulder aching, Clarke lowered Raven back onto the ground.

“There will be payback,” Raven promised. “You both better sleep with one eye open.”

“And where are you ladies sleeping?” asked a Grounder Clarke had never seen before. He winked at Octavia.

“With me,” said Lincoln. Without even looking at the Grounder, Lincoln walked forward and kissed Octavia possessively. Octavia kissed him back, more than matching his enthusiasm. They both gasped when they broke apart. The Grounder backed away, as did a few other man and not a few women Clarke had seen hovering near Octavia that night.

“Make sure you both partner up for this one,” said Octavia, her eyes still on Lincoln. “It’s considered an insult to have to sit out the dance following Single Ladies.”

“I took care of it,” said Lincoln.

“What does that mean?” Clarke demanded, but Octavia and Lincoln were already dancing away.

“We’re not seeing her again tonight,” commented Raven. There was an edge of something in her voice. But before Clarke could say anything else, Wick was there.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. Raven scowled.

“I don’t need your pity Wick.”

“What’s that you said? Pick me up Wick? Happy to!” And with that he had Raven off her feet and was spinning her away.

Clarke watched them speculatively. She liked what she had seen of Wick, but worried that Raven wasn’t capable of anything more than friendship right now.  
Closing her eyes, Clarke sighed. The guilt that was always lurking in the corner of her mind pulsed, sending waves of fatigue through her. She could have tried harder to save Finn. She could have made different choices. This – the party, the peace, all of it - couldn’t have happened if Finn had lived. Or so Clarke had believed. But what if she had been wrong? It had been Finn’s choice too, but Clarke could have stopped him.

“Hey.” Bellamy was next to her. He was so tall, Clarke thought. She only really noticed it when he was standing close and she had to crane her neck, as she was doing now, in order to meet his eyes. Bellamy had lovely eyes. They were warm and brown and focused – definitely his best feature. Though, the freckles and the arms were also striking. Clarke swallowed.

“Is it Finn?” Bellamy asked. Again there was the pulse of guilt.

“Let’s dance,” Clarke deflected. “My reputation is at stake.”

Bellamy’s face twisted strangely, but he stepped forward, putting one hand on her lower back and then took her hand. She could feel the callouses on his palm and fingers.

Clarke swallowed down her panic. She had not thought this through. Her own hands she knew were hot and sweaty from the dancing and her shirt was more than a little damp after carrying Raven around.

“Do you want to lead, or should I Princess?”

Clarke groaned.

“I hate that name,” she said. “It’s so..." but Clarke couldn’t think of a world that fit.

“Really?” asked Bellamy. He was frowning and Clarke was shocked to hear genuine concern in his voice. He took a step and Clarke moved with him, guided by the hand at her back. He took another and pushed her out into the next sequence of steps. Dancing was suddenly much easier than it had been earlier. Clarke wondered if she was improving or whether Bellamy was just a better partner.

“I kind of thought you’d taken it back,” said Bellamy after a moment. “You know, turned something meant to be dismissive into something true.”

With a nod, Clarke conceded the validity of that. She had become their leader, but she had never wanted to be their princess.

“Princesses are girls born to privilege. The system is rigged in their favor. Their qualification is their birth, that’s it. That’s not the kind of leader I want to be. That’s not the kind of future I want to build down here.” She sighed. She shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a pet name. Something her people called her because they cared. Getting upset about an endearment was churlish.

“Well,” said Bellamy, pushing her out into the twirl that had been literally tripping her up all evening and then pulling her back in close, “we’ll have to think of a new title…Clarke.”

Clarke’s stomach clenched and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” Bellamy asked. His eyes were on hers, full of concern.

“Yes,” Clarke lied. “All of a sudden. I think I’ll go sit by the fire.”

Bellamy stepped back and dropped his arms to his sides. With the heat of him gone, Clarke felt not only cold but bereft.

“Have I danced with all the tribes?” she asked.

“And some.” Bellamy was turning away from her, probably looking for Octavia and Lincoln.

“Good,” said Clarke. She wanted to say something else, but for the first time she couldn’t think of anything to say to Bellamy Blake. So she walked away.

 

***

Bellamy stood next to the punch and wondered if he could go to bed. Probably not. He felt…frustrated. Try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what was going on with Clarke. All night she had seemed to be fading in and out. One moment she was uncomfortably close, the next she was back in space.

A cold breeze was blowing off the lake and the celebrants were starting to disappear. From the woods he could hear giggling. More than once he caught girls and boys trying to catch his eye – but no one had outright approached him. For the best, he decided. He wasn’t sure what kind of mood he was in.

“Saw you dancing with Clarke.”

Bellamy looked over to see Nate Miller next to him.

“Where have you been?” asked Bellamy. “I haven’t seen you since you helped Octavia and Monty give me a makeover.”

“I didn’t help,” Miller corrected. “I didn’t stop them. You hadn’t had a bath since space. I thought they had a point.”

“Where have you been?” Bellamy reiterated. Miller shrugged.

“A couple of people in the Sea Clan were showing me how to work the string instruments.” He was looking straight ahead, his face as impassive as ever, but Bellamy thought he sounded happy. “Hurts your fingers, but they say once you get callouses you don’t notice.”

“Oh.”

“So you and Clarke,” said Miller without changing expression. There was definitely something pleased about his tone now. Bellamy crossed his arms. Miller just stood there, as if even Bellamy’s silence was a concession. Shaking his head, Bellamy chuckled appreciatively.

“This is why I stopped playing poker with you back on the Ark. You have the best bluff I have ever seen.”

“And you,” said Miller, “are the worst liar I have ever met. I don’t know why you try. Everything is right there on your face.”

“I successfully negotiated a peace with eleven different tribes!”

“Which you did because they could see exactly when they were pushing you too far and because Clarke is the scariest person I know.”

“I’m not sure why, but I’m offended,” Bellamy grumbled. Miller did smile at that. “Not because of what you said about Clarke,” Bellamy insisted. Milled nodded, his expression irreproachably serious. “I hate you,” said Bellamy.

A very drunk Monty stumbled toward the punch bowl, and seeing faces he recognized, turned on them both smiling widely. Bellamy stepped forward but, Monty veered around him.

“Nathan!” yelled Monty. He lurched forward and swung an arm over Miller’s shoulders. “Oh Bellamy, didn’t see you. Hey!” he slurred.

Bellamy looked back and forth between his two friends. Had Miller’s ears turned pink? Now that was new.

“Monty,” said Bellamy. “I didn’t realize you and Nathan were so close?”

Monty, adorably, just threw his other arm around Miller so that he was hugging him from behind. He propped his chin up on Miller’s shoulder.

“This guy!” said Monty. “You should have seen him when we were in Mount Weather. Nathan was amazing!”

The redness had spread to the back of Miller’s neck. Bellamy smirked.

“You’re gonna have to tell me about it sometime.” Bellamy leaned forward so that he was speaking into Miller’s ear that was not covered by Monty’s hair and said quietly. “I’m not the only one with a tell.”

Feeling smug, Bellamy made his way toward the bonfire. If he could take on Nathan Miller, he was confident he could figure out what was going on with Clarke.  
When he found her, he was shocked by how altered she looked. Her hair had been pulled down and had swung forward hiding her face. The kinks left by the braids caught the firelight so that her white blond hair looked like beaten brass. A blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and She was staring straight into the flames, but her mind was clearly far away.

The last remaining couple deserted the bonfire when Bellamy approached. He sat down on the log next to Clarke, close enough so that his leg touched hers. She didn’t move it, which he took as a good sign. Whoever Clarke was upset with, it wasn’t him, which left just one person she could be mad at.

“It’s not your fault Clarke. None of it.”

They sat in silence. The fire crackled and popped. Needing something to do, Bellamy grabbed a nearby stick and chucked it into the flames. There was a hiss and ashes shot into the air.

“I didn’t stop him,” Clarke whispered. “He went to the Grounders knowing there would be only one outcome. Death by one thousand cuts. Though in the end it only took 10.”

“Clarke, he was our friend. He was a good man. But what he did – it wasn’t just the Grounders who wanted justice. He wanted it.”

“He was trying to save me. I know that was also his choice but…I’ve made so many mistakes, so many bad calls. Yet I’m here right now, having fun, feeling hopeful. I can see a future now. And I just feel so guilty, like I’m abandoning him all over again.” Clarke’s voice had gotten so ragged that the words barely came out.

Carefully, Bellamy reached his arm out and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into him so that she was leaning against his shoulder. Clarke stiffened, then he heard the faintest of sighs and she turned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He could feel her breath against his chest.

“You never abandoned him Clarke. You’re going to carry him with you the rest of your life. But you’re not the only one. Finn, Wells, Charlotte, Sterling, Anya, Murphy…we’re all going to carry them the rest of our lives”

Gently, as if she was Octavia, Bellamy brought his hand up and stroked the back of her head. Clarke's hair was different than his sister’s. Instead of being smooth and fine, Clarke’s hair had all sorts of bumps and twists. His fingers got lost in the thick fall of it until at last he found the warm skin at the nape of her neck.

Clarke gasped and Bellamy froze. He’d crossed a line. Should he apologize? Leave?

Clarke’s hands shifted on his back. One moved up to grip his shoulder and the other moved lower. She pulled him and he twisted awkwardly on the log, trying to get closer. Before he had a chance to reposition himself, Clarke’s pulled herself up, swung on leg over him, and lowered herself so that she was sitting in his lap. He could feel his breath coming short and fast. He trailed one hand down her back while continuing to cradle her head with the other.

Clarke leaned back just enough so that he could see her looking down at him. Her eyes were so large and so blue, like the color of the lake on a sunny day. Bellamy told himself it was absurd to be nervous, and even stupider to be terrified. He remembered Miller’s words earlier, “Clarke’s the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy wasn’t sure what he was asking. There were no certainties in life, only actions and consequences, but even knowing that, he still wanted to hear the words.

“Yes,” she agreed. And then her lips were on his and Bellamy trusted her. There was a future here.

“I’m glad I washed my hair,” whispered Clarke.

Bellamy laughed.

“Me too.”


End file.
